


Step-Ball-Change

by cherryvanilla



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Community: ae_match, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-11
Updated: 2011-07-11
Packaged: 2017-10-21 06:24:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/221927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvanilla/pseuds/cherryvanilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>”All the way to thing we’ve been playing at, Darlin’”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Step-Ball-Change

**Author's Note:**

> Written for team romance on ae_match. Title and Summary by Joanna Newsom. Thanks to foxxcub for beta!

The first time he does it you’re in a bar in London with Cobb and Mal. You’re ordering another drink and possibly engaging in a little light flirting with an attractive male bartender when you feel it;ghost-likepressure against the small of your back. You’re embarrassed to admit it sends a jolt of electricity up your spine. You blame the unexpectedness of the occurrence rather than anything else. He nods at you, professionally, and orders a drink. You watch ashe taps his fingers ever so lightly on the bar top, those same fingers you just felt pressing through your shirt wherein you swear you can feel reminisce of heat. He turns, drink in hand, and winks at you, jerking his head discreetly toward the bartender.

He’s gone in the next instant. You throw some money down on the bar, no longer wanting to play this game tonight. You wish you could have searched his gaze long enough to deduce whether or not that wink and grin was genuine encouragement. You hope the latter. 

When you drift back to the table,Cobb and Mal have their arms draped casually around one another. Arthur is sipping at his drink, looking pristine and perfect in a white dress shirt rolled up to his forearms. His eyebrows rise slightly at seeing you over here,but he keeps his mouth in a straight line. You press in next to him, not touching. You rest your hand on the seat, right next to where his is splayed. 

You wonder what made him break the professional ice after six months of long heated glances, constant collaboration and him trying to feign disinterest when you know he wants to get you alone on a bed; you wonder if it was an unconscious moment on his part, flared by a bit of liquid courage. 

It’s not as though you’re an expert at this; you never expected to fall for someone you work with. To be honest, he’s a little tooby-the-bookfor you,which is impressive in this type of business. He likes high fashion, sophisticated drinks, classical music, and foreign films. He’s the exact opposite of every guy you’ve ever dated,and yet you want him more than any of them combined.

You very nearly let your hand brush his but something stops you. When you say goodnight on the curb, his eyes crease in something akin to disappointment. Before you can process it, a cab pulls up and hesays, “Goodnight, Mr. Eames,” all business again.

The next time it happens, a few months later, you’re in a warehouse, sitting at a drafting table and sketching the latest floor plan. 

“We have a perfectly good architect for that,” Arthur says, coming up to your side. 

“I’m a hands-on kind of guy,” you respond. He makes a soft sound, one you should be able to pinpoint but can’t. He reaches across the table for some blueprints just as you’re gathering a different pencil. Your fingers graze his wrist and he freezes. You can’t bring yourself to remove your hand – instead, you stroke over the inside of his wrist, again and again, not looking at him. He clears his throat and slowly withdraws his arm; your own follows, instinctively. 

“Eames,” he says lowly, and you can suddenly smell him, his cologne filling your nostrils like it’s the only scent you know.

You turn your head, ever so slightly. His arm is now at his side and you’re lightly holding him by wrist.  You slide your fingers lower, folding them into his palm. 

You watch him look down, blink, and look up. “You’re holding my hand. At work.”

“I’m well aware of this. Does it offend your person?”

Arthur shakes his head, minutely, but you can see the indent of his dimples.  “You’re going to be the death of me.”

You turn to him and raise his hand to the level of your lips.  “Arthur, darling,” you say grandiosely, “”I’ve been mad for you since the moment you accidentally shot me while I was scaling a wall in Dom’s subconscious.”

“I..” he starts, no doubt prepared to once again protest the untrue nature of this statement, but he stops when you drop to your knees, his hand still in yours. 

 “Will you…”

You watch his eyes grow comically wide and a faint blush creep up his cheeks.  He opens his lips part silently.

“…date me?”

He punches your arm without any real intent.  “You’re such a dick,” he says,but his eyes are dancing with amusement.

You rise to a standing position. “Had you there for a moment, didn’t I?” you grin and, because you can’t help it, drop a kiss on his knuckles. 

“I’m taking you to the least fancy restaurant Paris has to offer,” he promises. 

You drop his hand and cup his face instead, “you’re such a romantic,” you reply, sardonically, before claiming his lips in a deep kiss. His hands wrap around your waist, thumbs pressing into the small of your back.  Unlike the night at the bar, his touch is filled with intent.  You lean into it and smile against his lips. 

[end]

 


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